14. Dante
Chapter 14
Dante
August 30th
Love Scene or Real Thing? Star’s Beach Escapades Raise Eyebrows
By Susan Martin
America’s sweetheart Reese Sinclair (29) is reportedly pursuing decorated Olympian Dante Hastings (26), the youngest scion to the Hastings athletic empire, causing tabloids to dramatically label this her “cougar era.”
The pair’s intimate beach encounter in Northern California during production of Robyn Hood has fueled speculation. No stranger to headline-grabbing romances, Sinclair’s pattern of selecting spotlight-adjacent men continues, reminiscent of her notorious Teen Choice Awards kiss incident.
Meanwhile, Hastings is crafting his redemption arc. The fencing champion, whose shocking suspension earlier this year rocked the sports world, is now channeling his legendary intensity into Hollywood as both stunt coordinator and supporting actor in the Felix Langford-directed film.
As critics question Sinclair’s unexpected pivot to action films following her split from Jaxon Elio—some suggesting a mid- life crisis—Hastings appears to be successfully reinventing his public persona.
Brooklyn
DANTE HASTINGS!!!!!! Explain this article. Immediately.
Frankie
omgggggg our brothers in loveeeeee. finally sum1 2 take him off our hands lololol
Dante
It was a day at the beach. We’re friends.
Frankie
suuuuure bestie. ur never just friends w any1…remember dad’s pickleball instructor last summer lmaoooo
Dante
Can we be serious for a minute? I think I screwed up.
Brooklyn
You’re responsible for this?
Dante
You know Susan was on my yacht this summer. I think I may have confirmed our location.
How on earth would someone be able to track us down in the redwoods?
Brooklyn
She’s Reese Sinclair, you absolute walnut! She can’t even buy coffee without 50 cameras in her face!
Frankie
brooooo u done messed uppppp
Brooklyn
This is bad. She’s been dealing with stalkers since she was literally 12! Some psycho paparazzi literally ran her car off the road last year!
Dante
You’re the one who sounds like a stalker now.
Frankie
brookie’s right (4 once lol) thats pretty uncool bro
Dante
I completely forgot that even happened. Alright?
Brooklyn
If you actually care about her, you better start being MUCH more careful. I mean it, D.
Frankie
omgggg u DO care about her!!!
I can’t believe I did this. The thought of betraying Reese’s trust, of becoming just another vulture using her for headlines, makes rage burn through me. I need to put it somewhere, anywhere.
Susan. She’s the reason I’m in this mess. I pull up her contact.
Dante
What the ACTUAL fuck Susan? Off the record means OFF THE RECORD. Or did you conveniently forget that part?
Susan
New phone who dis?
My laugh comes out like broken glass, sharp and bitter.
Dante
Cut the bullshit. I gave you a summer of drugs and hookups on my yacht. This is how you thank me? Violating your own fucking journalistic integrity?
Susan
Welcome to the real world. Your little romance with America’s sweetheart? That’s GOLD. I did you a favor. You got your redemption story. Everyone wins.
Dante
Fuck you and your “favors.”
Susan
Don’t be so belligerent, darling. I’m hardly the only reporter on Reese Sinclair’s tail. How else do you think I knew about the shooting location earlier this month?
The thought that there could be more of this didn’t even occur to me. This is what Reese meant when she told me about living her life in the spotlight. I’ve experienced my own fame, but this…this is a fucking monster I can’t manage.
Susan
She’s a superstar. I simply got to break the story first and make a pretty penny by selling that photograph. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.
I open the link Susan sent to find dozens of articles from different news sources reporting on the beach sighting. The same photo is attached to each article. Me helping her into my car, her eyes tilted up at me, my hand resting on the small of her back. It must have been taken when we were leaving.
Fuck. I try to call Susan, but it goes to voicemail. I call again and again until I hear, The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.
Blocked. Seriously?
My sister’s warnings ricochet through my skull like bullets. God, that stupid fucking name-drop about Reese this summer.
The bragging. The boasting. I can’t help but feel responsible.
Anger builds in my body, the way it did before my fist landed in Quentin’s annoying sneer back at the World Cup.
I pace around the cabin. I need to run through my lines for my scene today, but I can’t focus. My mind keeps running back to the day on the yacht.
You’re always so well-researched, Susan.
Off the record, of course.
I barely told her a thing. Barely said yes, and she still fucking got on our tail because I somewhat confirmed Robyn Hood would be shooting in Redwood National Park, which stretches hundreds of miles.
Those asshats at the Stone Times constantly terrorize people. My ears start to ring, and I stop pacing. Can’t get angry. Can’t risk everything again. What am I going to do? Let myself snap again and risk losing everything a second time?
Need to calm the fuck down.
Calm down.
Maybe if I tell Reese about Susan now, she’ll understand? She’d get that I talked to Susan before I met her. Before I saw under the mask she wears just as tightly as I wear mine.
The thought rings hollow in my mind.
There’s no way Reese would understand me talking to the press about her.
And I don’t blame her. She’ll see me as another Ricky trying to use her for fame, and she’ll end whatever it is that’s going on between us.
And it can’t end.
We just got started.
But as that thought comes to mind, so does another, more bitter one.
Am I using her?
If something like this had come out over the summer, I would have been fucking elated. An article with my name, finally untethered from my suspension. The USFA committee’s gonna see this, think their problem child’s reformed. My DMs are already flooded. They think I’m back in form, back in play. America’s sweetheart’s new arm candy.
What better redemption story?
And yeah, there’s some perverse satisfaction in seeing my name beside Reese Sinclair’s instead of Jaxon’s—or anyone else’s, for that fucking matter.
I thought I knew what I wanted, but this victory feels like a hollow point.
I stare at the article. The photo of us is grainy, imperfect, but Reese’s smile is genuine. God, when she pulled her Reese Sinclair charm. Fuck . The same magic that had teenage me drilling lunges in front of her poster. Up close, she’s nuclear. The calculated batting of her lashes, that practiced smile. She could have whispered anything, and I’d have followed her into the Pacific.
Yeah, I want her.
But it’s deeper than flesh.
With her, the titles fall away. Not Olympic champion Hastings. Not the redemption-seeking hothead. Not the heir to generations of expectations.
Just Dante, stripped bare.
I can’t let her find out.
Reese’s scene is shooting in an open clearing about a ten-minute walk from our cabins. They’ve upped security, got all these big fuckers standing around camp. Another consequence of my actions.
I have to talk to her, see if she knows it was me who invaded her privacy.
I’m such an idiot. Guilt sinks deeper into my chest.
When I reach the set, Robyn and Merrick are trekking through the open field, searching for women to join their makeshift army against the king. Reese is focused on her lines, giving no indication that she’s mad.
I pull out my notebook and try to give myself a reason to be there other than spiraling.
Frantic for a distraction, I crouch and scribble onto the page, Marcus—reshoot bandage scene, weapon placement . The notes are real. A real enough excuse to come see her.
“Cut!” Felix shouts. “Sound’s fucked. Take ten. This goddamn cash grab,” he snarls at the techs. “Should’ve shot in Malta. Real action, real story—” He storms off.
Reese’s head tilts to the side as she sees me. She waves at Elizabeth and walks toward me.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be shooting at the jailhouse set?”
I should tell her. Susan’s name sits like ash on my tongue, but Reese looks at me like everything is normal. Like I didn’t screw this up before it began.
Interesting.
“It’s in an hour,” I say, handing her my notebook. “Looks like Felix is a real peach today.”
“He’s refusing to reshoot this scene with my notes,” she huffs. “Says we don’t have time, but somehow he can account for an hour of me in slo-mo shots. I’m going to lose my nerve.”
“I can’t figure out why he agreed to do this movie.”
“He loves female empowerment, duh ,” she says dramatically. “And the big fat director’s fee from the studio. But there’s only two more months of this.” She sighs before glancing down at my notebook in her hand. “What do you have here?”
“Notes on your scene. You know, for your choreography.”
“Oh.” She eyes me like she knows I’m hiding something. “We sneak off set for a day, and suddenly you’re all notebook and pen?”
“I can take them back.” I reach for my notebook, but she steps away, holding it out of reach.
“No. I want them. Just next time, maybe type them up.” Her eyebrows crinkle as she skims the page. “Though the messy handwriting does fit the medieval vibe.”
“Don’t worry, next time I’ll use a quill. Heart-dotted I’s and everything.”
“That’s the extra effort I like to see.” She toys with her hair, studying my chicken scratch. “You know, your spelling’s not really all that bad—maybe my homework is helping.”
“It is. Plus, autocorrect is a lifesaver.”
She laughs easily. It’s so easy with her. Fuck.
Focus .
Maybe she hasn’t seen the article yet. I inspect her face, getting caught on the way she bites her lip.
“Gosh, yes, this footwork analysis! I’ve been researching techniques, thinking about those defensive positions you showed me. Robyn’s always three steps ahead, just like real combat.”
“Smart.”
“Excellent work, Mr. Hastings. Also…” She leans in close. “I think the little break worked. It helped me get into character better. I felt myself channeling Robyn.”
“You don’t say.”
“You were right. About getting out of my skin. I need to be more bold, more magnetic—”
“Like me?”
She pauses. “Honestly, yeah. Exactly like you!”
“Let’s document this praise.”
“Hush!” She waves her hand at me, then grins, stretching her arms over her head. “Actually, speaking of our outing.” My breath stills. “Did you see the article about us this morning?”
“Yeah, and—”
She cuts me off. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“Sorry?” I ask carefully.
“It’s impossible for me to go anywhere without the media catching on. Even though our set location was meant to be undisclosed, they found out. I still have no idea how. But I definitely didn’t want you to get roped into my tabloid nonsense.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be? It’s not like you sold them the pictures.” My jaw twitches. But she keeps going. “My publicist is handling it. Especially all the commentary about our age—that’s the most ridiculous part of it. Three years between us, and they’re acting like I’m robbing the cradle. I turned twenty-nine, and suddenly I’m vintage goods. ‘Still stunning,’ they say, like they’re shocked I haven’t crumbled to dust.”
“What the fuck? You’re—” But the words don’t exist for what she is.
“Oh, it’s not just this world. My Aunt Mabel married younger back home, and you’d think she’d committed treason. Meanwhile, Omar is dating someone half his age, and they’re calling it romance.” She shrugs, feigning lightness. “Different rules here. Men age like wine, women like milk, right?”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“Well, regardless, I had fun yesterday.” Her voice is small, like she can’t believe she’s admitting it.
“Me too.”
“And I was thinking…” She tilts her head, studying me. “Maybe soon we could arrange another lesson off-grounds. Strictly professional, of course. For character research. Since it helped me so much. Robyn’s quite the bad girl, so it’s only right to follow in her footsteps.” She’s talking too fast, like she’s thought about this extensively.
“You want bad girl lessons?”
“I simply…well, this is going to sound odd, but I want to study you, like I have been with my homework.” Cowardice and embarrassment press against my chest. “Though Heather was furious about the beach—mostly because I left Ramsey behind. He wasn’t thrilled with me either, but he’d never say it. Next time we’ll have to bring him with us, otherwise, I’ll give her a heart attack. Can’t put her star talent in danger.”
I force a laugh, but my mouth is dry. “Is sneaking off again a good idea?”
I should back out.
Be responsible.
Be good.
I should remind her that every second we spend together is another risk, another headline. But then she tilts her head, eyes bright with mischief, and I know whatever argument I’m making in my head is feeble.
“Are you going to deny me more hands-on instruction?” she teases, flipping on her charm.
I can’t tell her about Susan. It really isn’t that bad, and because Reese Sinclair wants to let me orbit her atmosphere again.
I can keep this a secret. Reese doesn’t seem upset. Guess it’s not harming her, and that’s my priority.
I’ll keep her safe. Keep our time together out of the media to the best of my ability. I can protect her from my world. Because sometimes protection means carrying the burden alone. And I’ve always been good at carrying weight—what’s one more secret to break my back?
“Reese, we’re going to need you in your chair to adjust the hair here; we’re losing some volume,” a makeup artist calls over, eyeing us both.
She steps back, holding up my notebook like a shield, and the distance feels like the judgment I deserve. “Of course. Just getting some notes from the stunt team. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“What do you say, up for another adventure? If we can find something away from the tabloids, of course.”
I have no clue who this Reese in front of me is, but I want to find out.
I hesitate. The right answer is no. The right answer is distance.
But when have I ever done the right thing?
“I’m sure I can find something for us to do next weekend,” I hear myself say.
Being good is fucking overrated.
Little Fighter
I finally did the thing!
Dante
Conquered that stunt sequence we rehearsed today?
Little Fighter
Not exactly.
I managed to submerge myself in water without having a complete meltdown.
Dante
Funny, I recall someone claiming they’d been doing that all week.
Have you been feeding me little white lies?
Little Fighter
I may have slightly exaggerated my progress with the diving. The bathtub was very intimidating, okay?
Dante
Looks like I’ll have to start doing nightly check-in calls instead of texts.
Keep you accountable and such.
Little Fighter
Even during night shoots?
Dante
Especially then. I’m nothing if not thorough.
Little Fighter
Such dedication to my hydrotherapy.
Dante
I contain multitudes.
Little Fighter
Care to reveal any of those multitudes regarding our weekend plans?
Dante
Planning your escape route already?
Little Fighter
As if.
Dante
Perfect.
Remember, evidence must be provided daily from now on. Otherwise, I might have to personally supervise your diving lessons.